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by Doranwen



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Dreams, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doranwen/pseuds/Doranwen
Summary: Friends aren't the only ones left behind when the Pevensies return to England.





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snacky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/gifts).



> Beta credit goes to Morbane, who did a fantastic job in whipping this into much better shape than it started out!

They tumble out of the wardrobe like awkward puppies spilling out of a basket. Hands smooth over unfamiliar clothes; gazes take in bodies with vague recognition. "Where…?" asks Peter.

Edmund answers, staring in a daze as the realisation dawns. "The Professor's house. When we all went into the wardrobe together, into Narnia."

"We're in England again," whispers Lucy. "Only us."

Susan's eyes well up and she whispers, "Garrin… Michael… Jean!" The last name comes out in a whimper.

Peter lifts a hand to press against her shoulder, but she slumps against him, clutching the lifeline offered her in the form of a brother's arms. His own eyes flood with pain he cannot voice; visible in his mind are images of a beautiful woman caressing two small heads, their golden hair tousled from a romp in the courtyard.

Susan gets up suddenly and plunges back into the open wardrobe, parting the coats to reveal solid wood paneling, which she beats several times with her fists before collapsing to the floorboards and sobbing incoherently.

A silence falls over the room, broken by Susan's gulping breaths and by the clatter of footsteps outside the door. The footsteps have come and gone before they can recognise them as Mrs. Macready and her guests.

Lucy grasps Edmund's hand, blinking back the tears as she looks at him. "I am so grateful now that Finian and I had not had children yet… because if I don't see him again, I can't imagine…" She trails off, looking over at Susan's shaking form, and the dampness on Peter's face. Edmund's only response is to wrap one arm around her; he feels fortunate now, a role reversal from the happy days in Cair Paravel with two brothers-in-law, a sister-in-law, and four nieces and nephews … and no one special for him.

Lucy swallows hard, her hand still gripped in Edmund's. "I suppose we shall have to tell the professor…"

"Maybe he can find a way to get us back," says Peter hopefully.

* * *

The professor listens to their tale with concern, but is ultimately helpless. "I don't think you'll get back in that way," he says mournfully. "I wish…" He doesn't finish, and the children are unable to respond as they struggle to breathe steadily. How can they go on, never seeing their spouses and children again? They turn to go, but are halted by his voice. "If… if there is anything I can do…"

Peter swallows the lump in his throat. "You've already done it, sir," he says with a sad smile. "Thank you." He closes his eyes for a moment, bringing up his wife's face, beautiful and kind.

They slip back to their assigned rooms to curl up on their beds. "So," Edmund begins. "We're stuck here, like this." He looks down at his hands, boy-sized and not the man's hands he's used to.

"What must everyone think?" Susan cries. She sits on the edge of her bed, head in hands. "How can we get up each day, not knowing whether they're well, not seeing them…"

"We have to," Peter says. "We have to, somehow."

"We should talk about them with each other, so we don't forget. Maybe I can draw pictures of their faces," Lucy suggests, and the others agree.

They pick at their meals dispiritedly, and only murmur polite phrases to Mrs. Macready, who marvels at the dramatic change in their demeanours.

Susan lies awake that night longer than the rest, until she has exhausted her supply of tears. She closes her swollen eyes…

* * *

…and opens them to find herself standing in Cair Paravel. For one brief moment, she considers that maybe the last twelve hours was just a bad dream. And then she looks down at child-feet in England-shoes, and up again to see the hall where they always had taken their meals. Her own dear Garrin is seated between her son and daughter - who are so much bigger than they were just that morning! - and she tries to rush over to them. Her limbs are unexpectedly heavy, and the air thick as pudding. They look up at her, but no sign of recognition comes to their faces. Only the cook, who had been at Cair Paravel since Susan first ruled from it, displays shock in her face, calling Susan's name noiselessly.

"Garrin, children, it's me!" Susan shouts; her words are wisps of fog disintegrating in the morning air. The image of her beloved children wavers and ripples in the lake of her mind, vanishing into black nothingness, and she finds herself sitting upright in bed at the professor's house, a wordless cry springing from her lips.

Lucy pushes herself up to a sitting position a few seconds later, and lays a hand on Susan's arm.

"I saw them … in my dream. They saw me too… I think I was actually there," Susan whispers.

Lucy holds her hand tightly.

In the morning, she tells the boys about her dream. Peter's face lights up. "You saw them too?"

"But—" Susan begins, "Jean had grown so much." She looks at him helplessly.

Edmund remembers a witch's tea that took no time at all, many years and only days ago, and thinks of nephews and nieces he may never see again. "The old muddle of times again," he says, low and lost.

* * *

Susan eagerly closes her eyes each night now, but it is another week before she opens her eyes in Cair Paravel again. This time she finds herself in her husband's room. His face has more lines on it than it used to, but it is not greatly changed. His eyes are closed as he sleeps, and she cannot help but stretch out a hand, parting the air in front of her. Her flesh brushes his intangibly; her fingers glide through a warm pocket of air instead of meeting his cheek.

Garrin's eyes pop open, and he stares for a moment, lifting a hand in slow motion to trace the outline of her face in wonderment. His eyes widen in realisation, and he opens his mouth, forming the shapes of their children's names. When Michael skids into the bedroom in a princely nightshirt, Susan can only stare; her little boy is now a young man. A shadow about his jaw hints at morning shaves, and his boyish face is forever gone, absorbed into a youth's confident visage. Jean runs in and stops short, eyes growing large and full of longing as recognition dawns in her face; she now appears only a year or two younger than Susan herself.

Susan calls out questions that result only in mildly bewildered expressions, and Jean steps forward as if to hug her, but Susan's loved ones fade quickly from her view, leaving her sitting upright in a dark room. She wonders whether they still miss her, what they are learning, whether Garrin has found someone else they now call 'mother'. She wonders if Michael is strong and skilled with the sword, and if Jean is learning archery as she once did.

Lucy wakes with a gasp, sitting up next to her and pulling her knees to her chin.

"I saw them again," Susan says.

"I saw Finian," Lucy replies. A sad smile passes between them.

"Did he know who you were?" Susan asks after a moment.

"I'm… not sure. And he was older."

"So were Garrin and the children. Michael was older than Peter is now, and Jean was almost my age now."

Lucy's hand creeps into Susan's as the night presses close around them. "Do you…" Lucy begins, voice swallowed up by a lump in her throat for a moment, "do you think they are happy?"

She doesn't say _without us_.

Susan doesn't say anything at all.

* * *

Susan dreams occasionally - never more than once a week, and sometimes less. She finds herself in different locations: a hallway, the exercise yard, even the watchtower. Sometimes she sees familiar faces, but other times she wanders aimlessly in vain hopes of meeting those she loves. Her siblings tell similar tales, and every detail seen is shared before breakfast. Lucy draws each loved one as they look on; shared memories help her adjust features until each has a set of treasured likenesses.

The night before they are to leave the professor's house to return home, Susan dreams one last time. She is standing in the throne room, and looks up to see all four thrones filled. Michael and Jean sit in two as grown adults, and she only recognizes Peter's children because his son resembles him so closely.

Michael's eyes meet hers, and he launches himself down the steps towards her, pulling a piece of parchment from his robe as he does so. He unrolls it and holds it in front of Susan, who is grateful for the time she spent mastering the various forms of Narnian script.

It is a letter from Michael to her, telling her how much he and Jean have missed her, and reassuring her that Garrin has been a strong father to them both in her absence. He tells her that they all love her, and finishes with a plea to smile at them if she can, to show her love back. She broadens her lips as wide as she can, trying to convey all the love and longing in her heart. She wakes with a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes.

"They are the four kings and queens of Narnia now, as we were," she tells the others the next morning.

"They have each other," Peter says, wistfully.

"So do we," Edmund reminds him—reminds them all. "And didn't Aslan tell us—once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen?"

"It seems to me that that isn't the only 'always'," says Lucy, glancing down at her body.

"Always children," Edmund says with a wry grin.

"Always a parent," Peter adds.

Susan meets his eyes with a slight nod. "Yes, always."


End file.
